


the one that makes me come running

by ladyvivien



Category: Mapp & Lucia (2014), Mapp & Lucia - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, F/F, Female Friendship, Frenemies, Love/Hate, Mapp is incurably nosy, Mapp's internalised homophobia, Masturbation, Rivalry, Solo Kink, and a little bit queer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 13:14:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3069440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyvivien/pseuds/ladyvivien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn’t that she’s sneaking, exactly. Why, she has a perfect right to climb her own stairs in her own house! But darling Lulu has taken to her bed and may be sleeping, and the last thing one would ever want to do is wake the poor thing from her sickbed and so she is merely walking on her tippy-toes so as not to disturb the invalid. </p><p>‘Darling Lulu’ is in bed. But she isn’t asleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the one that makes me come running

**Author's Note:**

> Set early on during Lucia's first stay at Mallards.

It isn’t that she’s sneaking, exactly. Why, she has a perfect right to climb her own stairs in her own house! But darling Lulu _has_ taken to her bed and _may_ be sleeping, and the last thing one would _ever_ want to do is wake the poor thing from her sickbed and so she is merely walking on her tippy-toes so as not to disturb the invalid. Assuming, of course, that Lucia is ill at all - it is equally likely that she simply wanted to avoid Elizabeth’s picnic out of some misplaced sense of grievance, which makes it Elizabeth’s solemn duty to put her right.

Through the crack in the door, Elizabeth can see movement under the covers and hear wordless murmurs. _The poor thing is having a bad dream_. She pushes the door open a little further

‘Darling Lulu’ is in bed. But she isn’t asleep. Her eyes are closed, true, but her face is flushed and she is biting her lip and her hand is moving furiously beneath the bedclothes. It’s most undignified really, all those little grunts and the way her back arches up like that, the sheets slipping down to expose a small white breast and a blush-pink nipple. And they’re Elizabeth’s sheets! The thought of those sheets - the ones she had ordered from London - damp with perspiration and Lord knows what else. Elizabeth feels unaccountably warm, doubtless from sheer outrage. To carry on this way, in someone else’s house! In someone else’s bed - Elizabeth may never be able to sleep another wink in that bed again, not without remembering the way Lucia sighs and writhes, grinding herself against her own hand. 

A wicked little voice at the back of her mind - that just so happens to sound an awful lot like the woman before her - tells her she’s being a ghastly hypocrite. But it’s utterly different, she tells the voice sternly. This is the middle of the day, broad daylight even if the drapes are closed, Lucia’s legs spread wantonly. Nothing like the pressure of the heel of one’s palm in exactly the right place under cover of darkness, pressing and pressing until the tension builds, until fireworks explode behind one’s eyelids and the only name on one’s lips is…. 

Her hand has drifted to the front of her skirt, ghosting over the place that Lucia is touching. Elizabeth snatches her hand back, pinching the fingers hard as she folds them behind her back. She will not stoop to that woman’s level, no matter how much the thoughts plague her at night. 

Lulu’s cries are getting louder, sharper, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She’s near the moment of completion and any minute now her world will swim back into focus and she’ll catch Elizabeth standing there, watching. 

She should move, but she’s glued to the spot. It’s not as though anyone will hear about this, this is hardly the kind of scandal she can spread. The only one who’d want to know is Quaint Irene - Irene whose eyes follow Lucia shamelessly, who looks at Elizabeth knowingly. Irene who’d _understand_ , damn the perverted little witch. 

Lucia is trembling now, shaking so violently Elizabeth almost wants to step in, to make sure she isn’t having some kind of fit. To her horror, she finds her hand - that traitorous hand! The one that inches between her thighs in the middle of the night, the one that twitches towards Lucia, wanting to pat and touch and stroke and slap - clasping the door knob. Her grip tightens, her knuckles whiten as the other woman starts to pant out a syllable, part hum and part gasp, and it isn’t until her whole body goes rigid with pleasure that she completes the word.

Elizabeth flees like the hounds of hell are after her, only slowing to a leisurely stroll when she reaches the sun-warmed Tilling streets. Major Benjy calls out a “Quai Hai!”, the Padre says something incomprehensible in Scots and the whole village is alive and bustling. Elizabeth Mapp walks down the cobbled streets with her fake smile plastered across her face, nodding to the neighbours she despises, and all she can hear is Emmeline Lucas calling out her name mid-climax. 


End file.
